


Reaching Out And Falling In

by menhir



Series: Winter Stars and Iron [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Showers, Wet Dream, the telepathic equivalent to phone sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menhir/pseuds/menhir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wasn't a wide-eyed innocent, despite Natasha's teasing, and despite the fact that Tony didn't seem to think people had had sex prior to 1960. Before the war Bucky’d set Steve up with a few girls who’d fooled around with him out of pity (or to get into Bucky’s good graces), and after the serum a few of the show girls had, quite literally, shown Steve a few things. There’d even been a handful of dates and a few kisses (and some wandering hands) after Steve woke up from the ice. Steve had done plenty—and had plenty of his own fantasies; but the long and the short of it was he hadn’t actually been with anyone else <i>except</i> Bucky, not all the way. It hadn’t occurred to Steve he wouldn’t know what to do when presented with the prospect of Tony’s very real—<i>and very experienced</i>—desire. </p><p>But there it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching Out And Falling In

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot picks up directly from the end of chapter six of [Nowhere To Go But Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6381397/chapters/14613505). Definite spoilers if you haven't read the main fic and intend to.
> 
> Steve and Bucky are soulmates connected by a psychic bond. They can't talk directly to each other across the bond, but they can pick up impressions from each other. Tony's harboring them from SHIELD by pretending to be Bucky's soulmate. He's also trying to sort out a bioengineered infection he's been injected with.
> 
> Lots of feels and some explicit fun :)

“Can you get him back?” 

“I don’t know.” Steve pushed the covers away and sat up, shoulders heavy. The phantom sensation of water pressed down and in and all around him. No matter how much Steve told himself he was safe in bed and there was plenty of air to breathe, his mind still didn’t quite believe him. He was drowning and there was no one to pull him up. “I’m not sure what the hell I picked up from him, Buck.” His voice scratched and he coughed again reflexively.

Bucky brought up the lights in the bedroom, keeping the ambience soft. The windows were dark and the lights of the city below were faint pinpricks through the mirror shielding. It was that strange time somewhere in between  _late_  and  _early,_  when the numbers on the clock were weightless and could mean whatever they wanted to mean. 

“Haven’t heard you rattle like that since we were kids.” 

Steve smiled weakly. “Oh,  _that_  you remember.” 

“Hard not to remember your wheezing. You did nothin’ but.” Bucky soothed circles on Steve’s back and breathed in deep, then paused and breathed out slow. Then repeated.   

Steve matched the pattern, falling into their old rhythm unconsciously. He pressed a thumb between his eyebrows. As his pulse settled, he went back through the flash of information he’d gotten from his brief connection with Tony. 

 _Water. Panic. Refusal. The need to make a desperate gamble._  

Tony had been tortured by the Ten Rings before he became Iron Man. If Tony was thinking back to the cave where they’d cut him open and threatened his life, then that meant—

“He’s scared, Bucky.” Steve lifted his head. “Tony thinks he’s dying.” 

“Shit,” Bucky said softly. “I knew it was bad.” 

Steve sorted through the muddy mix of images. “He’s supposed to be developing a treatment, but whatever it is, I think it’s dangerous.”

“You mean he might kill himself by tryin’ to make himself better.” 

“He doesn’t think he has any other choice.”

“Friday?” Bucky scanned the room for their invisible ally. “Any idea what we’ve got on our hands?”

“Apologies, Sergeant Barnes,” Friday said, “but Mr. Stark has asked for my discretion on this particular project.”

“Can you give us a hint? Anything?”

“My code has been modified to prevent my former workarounds,” she said. “Should I find a loophole, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“Whatever you can do,” Bucky said. “You’re a doll.”

“Is Tony on lockdown?” Steve asked.

“He's not currently accepting visitors to the lab,” Friday provided. “However, blackout protocols have not been engaged. He will accept incoming communication from either yourself or Sergeant Barnes. All others to be determined on a case-by-case basis.” 

Steve and Bucky shared a startled glance. Tony’d been hiding behind lab security measures for the better part of the last week. And now he’d left a direct line open for them? 

“Steve,” Bucky’s mouth curled, catlike, “I thought you said it was just a kiss.”

Steve made a valiant effort to keep his expression neutral.  _“It was.”_

“Let’s call him.”

“And say what?” Steve asked. “‘We have a feeling you might be working on something dangerous, you want to tell us what it is? Maybe let us into the lab?’”

Bucky rolled his right shoulder. “Why not? Promise him another kiss and I bet he’ll let us in.”

“That’s not funny.” 

“It might work.”

“This is Tony we’re talking about here,” Steve said. 

“Right,” Bucky agreed. “Your point?”

“If we approach him directly, he’ll evade.” Tony was far too clever for his own good, and if he was working on something he didn’t want anyone to know about, he’d find a way to misdirect them, even if it meant turning down something he wanted. Even if the  _something_  he wanted was Steve and Bucky. 

“So,” Bucky mused, “you got a better idea to rescue our fella?”

Steve's cheeks flushed.  _Our fella._ He liked the sound of that. 

“I’m not sure," he said. Given their current situation, it was doubtful anyone else could work up a cure for Tony except for Tony himself—not unless, by some miracle, Banner came out of hiding and returned to New York just in time to save the day (and that was about as likely as Steve sprouting wings in the next five minutes). If they interfered and something went wrong—at best, it would be time lost on developing a treatment. Time Tony needed. At worst it could cost Tony his life. Whatever they did, they had to be careful. 

“I’ll try the bond again,” Steve said. “If we can get Tony to sense one of us, maybe he’ll be more willing to trust us. He might even let us help. I just have to figure out how to get him back on the line.” 

Which might be easier said than done. The rapport Steve shared with Bucky had been built mostly on instinct and trial and error. They had very few hard facts about how their soul bond functioned. It just  _did._  Whatever they were tapping into with Tony, it wasn’t stable. Steve had no idea what had triggered the connection in the first place or how to reestablish contact now that it had been lost.

“Gentlemen,” Friday said, “if I may make a suggestion?” 

 

+

 

Steve arranged the jumble of wires over his scalp and pressed the electrodes to his temples, following Friday’s instructions. Bucky paced, arms folded, beside the bed. Bucky had refused to let Steve sit in a chair and—judging from the anxiety rolling through the bond in agitated waves—was about two seconds from ripping the contraption right off Steve’s head. 

Tony had given them a handful of items to monitor and control their connection through the soul bond—to keep whatever Hydra had put into Bucky’s head from leaking over to Steve—and this device was the one Bucky liked least. 

“We could just go down to the lab,” Bucky said, “force him to listen to us.”

“Tony’s not going to let us in while he's working,” Steve said. “Besides, SHIELD has doubled their security measures. We won’t be able to get you through without proper clearance.”

“They think Tony’s my soulmate,” Bucky said pointedly. “They  _have_  to let me through.” 

“No, they don’t,” Steve said. Although, the funny thing was, Bucky was just about as close to being Tony's soulmate as a person could be without having an official rendezvous and a genuine soul mark to match. He and Steve both were. And that was even harder to explain. Steve had never heard of a three-person soul bond; but then again he and Bucky had never been traditional soulmates. They'd been breaking the rules since day one. “If we draw attention to the fact he’s locked you out, it’s going to raise red flags.” Assuming it hadn’t already. Newly bonded pairs rarely spent this much time apart, which Steve had tried to warn Tony about from the beginning. They were on thin ice. “Any trouble we cause is more work for Tony and more leverage for SHIELD to take you into custody. I’d rather not risk you in the process of trying to help him.”

“Well, I don’t see how this thing is going to do any good,” Bucky said. “Tony said it was for memory, not for gettin' into other people's heads.” 

“That is technically correct, Sergeant,” Friday piped in. “However, we are testing a hypothesis. We want to find out whether or not access to a memory of the connection will help the bond reestablish contact. From what I understand, the human mind is remarkable at learning by example. All signs indicate the bond wants to connect. That is its primary function. All we have to do is provide it with the opportunity.” 

“You’ve been spendin’ too much time with Tony,” Bucky grumbled.

“Yes, well, it’s part of the job,” she said lightly. “I’m going to start up the device, Captain. Are you ready?”

Steve willed his shoulders to relax. “As I’ll ever be.” 

“It won’t hurt him, will it?” Bucky asked, arms going slack, expression naked with worry. 

“Mr. Stark has tested the device several times without ill effect,” Friday assured him. “Its purpose is to heal neural pathways, not harm them.” 

Bucky didn’t look convinced, but Steve sent him a wave of reassurance and closed his eyes. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about this, either. The last time he’d tried to track Tony down through the bond, it had ended badly for everyone. Right now they didn't have many choices.  

Friday charged up the electrodes and Steve plunged back into the brackish memory, his air slipping away as Tony's terror closed over his head again. 

 _Water, thrashing, and pain. Tony’s chest had been cracked open and metal forced inside._   _He was going to die. He didn’t want to die. Not yet._

“Think about reestablishing contact, Captain,” Friday instructed, her commands muted.  

"Breathe, Steve," Bucky said.

Steve gasped in.

Tony _._  Steve needed to reach Tony. He needed to help him.

The memory guttered and came apart and Steve tried to hold the ragged edges together. He reached for a shining, spinning thread—it was weak, wavering, and about to snap—and found himself being pulled, skimming across patterns of light and sinking into another impression entirely:  _Regret. Wistfulness. And—_ need.  _Steve’s mouth moved against Tony’s and Tony clutched at his shirt to draw him in desperately._

If that wasn’t Tony, Steve didn’t know who else it could be. The memory came through a thick membrane of water, everything padded and muffled, but Tony's conscious patterns of thought rippled through in semi-coherent phrases, echoing Steve’s own fears.  _Tony wanted so much more than just one kiss. There were so many things Tony needed time for. If he could just figure this out. Please let him figure it out._

That was new. Steve and Bucky's bond had never been quite that easy to decipher.

Steve’s head ached distantly—the throbbing, dizzying pain of a persistent migraine. That had to be Tony, too.

“Tony,” Steve said.

The bond abstracted the name, pulling it apart and diffusing it into symbols, memories, sensations:  _The helicarrier shuddered beneath them, lurching and throwing them both to the floor. Tony’s bravado crumbled and then resolved with determination.—Tony gasping back to life after his fall through the wormhole.—Steve had been on a mission, remote, when he received news the Stark mansion in Malibu had been destroyed. Tony had given out his address to a terrorist, because of course he had.—Tony was at breakfast with his nose in a cup of coffee and Steve sat down beside him. When was the last time Tony'd slept?—He walked Tony back to his car outside the new Avengers’ compound and said goodbye._

Steve didn’t want to say goodbye. 

“Tony.”

Tony felt it. Weakly, but he felt it. His reaction rippled back—dull, diluted, and confused.  _Why the sudden rush of warmth and affection? Tony had a bad heart. That wasn’t good for him. Plus it was distracting and he couldn’t afford to be distracted right now._

“Tony, can you hear me?”

 _Steve’s mouth was distracting. No one had told Tony that Captain America was a good kisser and that really was foul play. Steve Rogers should come with a warning label. The things Tony’d do to him if given half the chance._   _God, all he needed was a chance._

Flashes of something else. The sofa in the lab. A punch to the gut of sheer lust that left Steve reeling, unprepared.

Tony was remembering— _looking down at himself, erection straining and fist sliding up and squeezing down._

Steve's stomach twisted with reverberations of Tony's need. Heat suffused Steve's body—partly embarrassment, partly his own desire responding to the sudden flood of sensation.  

There was a foggy impression of a person. No. Two people. They were with Tony on the sofa. A body behind Tony, mouth moving against the back of his neck. Metal fingers trailing down the line from chest to navel. A man pushing Tony’s legs open, his head bowing down to take Tony into his mouth and Tony making a low noise of encouragement and—oh, shit— _it was Steve._

Steve gaped. Tony’d jerked off to a fantasy of Steve’s hands on his thighs and the wet heat of Steve’s mouth swallowing down around him, edging him closer. 

_And, well, now Tony was officially distracted. Damn it._

Steve's hand tingled with the faraway sensation of denim as Tony dragged the heel of his hand between his legs, building friction. Steve swallowed back a curse. 

_Tony really didn’t have time for another round—but if he was going to go out, he might as well go out enjoying himself, right? Friday was running the next set of calculations and he’d need to take a break sooner or later._

Steve's fingertips sparked with the distinct pop of a metal button coming out of its loop and the jagged pull of a zipper. Tony’s palm dragged against fabric and warm skin as his hand slid down between his legs. 

Steve wrenched away, shock reverberating through his system, and he landed back in his own consciousness. The bedroom swam into focus. He yanked the network of wires off his head, his whole body flushed. It was hard to breathe again, but for a different reason. 

That—was not at all what Steve had been expecting.

Steve and Bucky had done all that and more, of course. Steve wasn't a wide-eyed innocent, despite Natasha's teasing, and despite the fact that Tony didn't seem to think people had had sex prior to 1960. Before the war Bucky’d set Steve up with a few girls who’d fooled around with him out of pity (or to get into Bucky’s good graces), and after the serum a few of the show girls had, quite literally, shown Steve a few things. There’d even been a handful of dates and a few kisses (and some wandering hands) after Steve woke up from the ice. Steve had done plenty—and had plenty of his own fantasies; but the long and the short of it was he hadn’t actually been with anyone else  _except_  Bucky, not all the way. It hadn’t occurred to Steve he wouldn’t know what to do when presented with the prospect of Tony’s very real— _and very experienced_ —desire. 

But there it was.

“What is it?” Bucky said, jarring Steve fully back to himself. “Did you get to him?” 

Heat reddened Steve’s ears. “Ah, yes.” Definitely yes.

“Well?” 

“Not quite what we were hoping for.” Although Steve had to admit Bucky's suggestion to offer Tony kisses in exchange for information might not have been such a bad idea. 

“Steve,” Bucky said, crawling onto the bed beside him, “you’re blushing. What the hell did you see?”

"Um." Steve shoved the flurry of impressions through the bond before he could think better of it. Bucky wouldn’t be able to pick up on the minute details as well as Steve had, but the gist of it should come through loud and clear. 

Bucky frowned as he processed the jumble of information. “What the hell?” His mouth dropped open. 

Steve scratched the back of his neck. 

“If he wants us that bad,  _why the fuckin’ hell is he shutting us out?”_  Bucky swung off the bed and was already halfway to the elevator before Steve managed to catch up to him.

“Buck, wait. I think he’s—in the middle of something.” 

“All the more reason to interrupt,” Bucky growled. “You can help him finish.”

The bottom dropped out of Steve’s stomach.  _“Bucky, no.”_  Steve wasn’t remotely ready to seduce Tony Fucking Stark. He needed a master’s class—or at the very least a crash course—in modern pleasures and techniques to satisfy the ultra-rich before he’d be ready. 

“Look, maybe I can’t join you, but that doesn’t mean you two can’t have a good time.”

“Bucky, I can’t,” Steve said. “I really can’t. Especially not without you.” 

Bucky’s brow creased and he turned fully, picking up on the concern coming from his soulmate. Steve didn’t bother to shut him out. Bucky’d find out sooner or later and it wouldn’t help to keep it secret. “Steve, are you nervous?” Bucky asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous about someone before.”

“No one else mattered before, except you.”

“Stevie, you got nothin’ to worry about.” Bucky came close and ran his hands up the sides of Steve’s neck. He forced Steve to look at him. “You love someone, it comes natural, right? We figured it out, didn’t we?”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Do you remember our first time?” 

Bucky broke eye contact and worried at his lower lip. He shook his head minutely.

“It’s all right,” Steve said, taking Bucky’s right hand and holding it to his chest. “Let me tell you.” He ran his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand. 

“Okay.” 

“We weren’t even in the same house, let alone the same room. Neither one of us really knew what was going on. It was just hormones and sensations flying back and forth across the bond—mostly from you, I’d like to add. You woke me up out of a dead sleep.”

Bucky had the decency to look chagrined—though the curve of his mouth was unapologetic.

“I had to talk you out of coming over the next night. It was a school night and you wanted to skip the next day—hell, you wanted to skip the whole rest of the week—but my ma wouldn’t let us get away with that. So you spent the next weekend at my place so we could try it out for real. We didn’t know what the hell we were doing and there sure wasn’t anyone to teach us. It was hot and messy and it felt good; but it was awkward and uncomfortable as hell, too.”

“Your poor ma.”

“Yeah, she was a saint.” 

“You think she knew?”

“Of course she knew. The walls were like paper, Buck. We used to laugh about her playing her records at full volume, but she was giving us privacy and keeping the neighbors from finding us out.” 

Bucky sighed. “All right. So maybe there’s some bumps along the way, but we still worked it out, didn’t we? You and Tony will figure it out, too. Doesn’t matter if he’s slept with the whole goddamn world, he ain’t never slept with you.” 

“That’s sweet,” Steve said, “but I’d like it to be a little nicer than barging in on him in the middle of jerking off. Call me old fashioned.”

Bucky made a face. “Yeah, all right.”

“Let’s just get some sleep and regroup when the sun’s up.” Steve tugged on Bucky’s hand and he reluctantly followed Steve back to the bedroom.  

Steve rolled onto the bed and Bucky grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills from the bedside table. He tapped one out for himself and said, “I don’t want you takin’ one of these. One of us has to stay open for Tony, just in case, and it’s probably better you than me.”

Steve made a small noise of agreement. 

Bucky paused and set the pill on the table. He stretched out next to Steve and smoothed a hand down Steve’s stomach. “I love you, you know.” A ripple of warmth came through the bond, tinged with the hollow longing to be touched.

Steve’s eyes fluttered closed and he put his hand over Bucky’s. “I know.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to be an ass," Bucky added. "I don’t want you to do somethin’ you don’t want. I just thought you needed a kick in the pants.”

Steve’s mouth twitched into a partial smile. Wanting certainly wasn’t the problem. Steve wasn’t shy with Bucky, but he and Bucky had fumbled their way through and learned each other  _together_. Even after decades apart, being with Bucky was familiar. Comfortable. With Tony, Steve was suddenly out of his depth. Tony had his insecurities, but physicality wasn’t one of them. What if Steve couldn’t live up to the fantasy? What if he proved Tony right about being nothing more than a sexually-awkward nonagenarian?

“It never occurred to me that sleeping with Tony was something that could actually happen,” he admitted. 

Steve's uncertainty reverberated through the bond and Bucky leaned in, resting his weight on Steve’s chest. He dipped his head down to reassure his soulmate with a kiss. The bond hummed with pleasant currents of energy and Bucky pulled away, only to lean back in and steal another taste of Steve's lips. Steve put his hand behind Bucky’s head and pulled him close, his other hand sliding down the back of Bucky’s shoulders, following his spine—giving the soul mark scar wide berth—to squeeze the curve of his ass. 

Bucky tensed as Steve bypassed the scar; but once he was confident Steve wasn’t going there, he made a soft, contented noise and rocked himself against Steve’s thigh. 

“Bucky.”  

“Want you,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s mouth. His tongue met Steve’s inside another kiss and Bucky shifted his weight to straddle him.

 _Fuck._ “I want you, too.” Steve’s hands slid up Bucky’s sides and back down to knead his ass again, encouraging the languorous shift of his hips back and forth. God, how he wanted him. 

There was a time when Steve had thought he’d never have this much again. He was grateful—impossibly grateful—just to know Bucky was still breathing, still living. But, yeah, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want more, if they could have it. He wanted to be with Bucky skin to skin—and skin to metal—to lavish affection on every last inch of him. To have Bucky laid out as Steve trailed kisses up from his navel to his ribcage. Or to sink into him, to move with him, and to let Bucky have him in turn until they were both lost and spent and satisfied. Afterwards to wipe the sweat-damp hair from his face and hold him in warmth and bright, shifting colors of light. To show him in every way possible— _I don’t care if you’ve changed. It’s okay. I love you no matter what._  

But right now, the only way for Steve to show Bucky he cared was by not following the tide of those instincts. If they got too caught up, the bond would take over, blurring the lines and building desire, making it difficult (though not impossible) to stop. They’d found out the hard way that was exactly where trouble and pain would begin. 

Steve broke for air. “Bucky, we shouldn't.” 

Bucky breathed in sharply through his nose, and then deliberately put his metal hand on Steve’s chest and pushed away. “Fuck,” he muttered as he turned his back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He braced his hands on the mattress, shoulders curling up, tense. 

Steve wanted to join him—to sit next to him and run a hand down his back and console him—but that would make the problem worse. So he lay where he was and studied the ceiling while Bucky took the sleeping pill and downed it with a glass of water. 

“I hate this,” Bucky said. 

“Tony said the medication wasn’t a permanent solution,” Steve said. “We’ll figure something else out.” 

Bucky rolled over and curled up at Steve’s side, slinging an arm around his waist. “Better be sooner than later,” he griped. “I’m damn horny.”

Steve gasped out a laugh. Bucky had always had a way of calling things as he saw them. No romantic sugarcoating. He loved Steve and Steve knew that; but sometimes Bucky didn’t want the feelings the same way Steve did. Sometimes he just wanted a fuck and didn’t mince words about it. 

“I don’t remember feelin’ this antsy about it until they locked us in the tower together.” Bucky yawned. “I mean, when I was out there on my own I  _thought_  about it; but now it’s like I’m gonna crawl right out of my skin if I can't have my hands on you.”

“The soul bond's working overtime to make up for the last seventy-odd years.”   

“Pushy bastard.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows. 

“The bond. Not you,” Bucky clarified, amused.

“Oh.”

Bucky sobered. “Steve, what I said earlier? About giving you a kick in the pants?"

"Mm?"

"I don’t want to push you or anything,” he said, drawing patterns over Steve’s shirt, “but you should know I’m okay if you decide you want to. I mean, if you get through to Tony again, and you both want to, it’s okay with me if you go for it.”

Steve looked down at Bucky, frowning. 

“Doesn’t matter if it’s over the bond, or if you can get him to let you into the lab, or if you can convince him to come upstairs and use his goddamn bedroom,” Bucky added. “For real or whatever. If you want to, it’s okay with me.”

“I said I didn’t want this for the three of us if I would get left out,” Steve said. “I don’t want to leave you out, either.” 

“Hey, it’s a shitty deal on this end,” Bucky said. “Not gonna pretend it isn’t. But I meant it when I said I can’t have Hydra mixed up in you an’ me. Not gonna risk Tony, either. What happened before was bad enough. I’d never be able to get in bed with you again if it happened while we were fucking.”

“Bucky.”

“No, listen. I’m serious. You both’ve been waitin’ a long time. And whatever’s happening to Tony, if something goes wrong, there might not be many chances left. If you and Tony want to make each other feel good for a little bit, I want that, too.” Bucky’s eyelids drooped as the medication started to take hold. “Doesn’t have to be about me. Not for right now.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and tucked his face close. “Damn it, Bucky.”

Bucky hummed. “Pretty selfless, right?” His words slurred. “You're gonna owe me big when I get this shit outta my head, punk.” 

“Anything you want,” Steve said. “It’s a deal."

Bucky mumbled something unintelligible. His breathing evened out and his presence on the bond dropped away and dreamless sleep claimed him. 

But Bucky had said  _when_ and not  _if_ , and that was enough to give Steve hope.

Steve closed his eyes and drifted off soon after.

 

+

 

Bucky had said it was okay.

If they wanted to. 

 

+

 

Steve came to in the lab. 

Tony was perched in front of his screens, skimming displays and trashing failed equations. A circle of blue-white light shone beneath his t-shirt, lighting his face with a ghostly glow. 

Steve balked. That was wrong. Tony’d had the arc reactor removed. The shrapnel had been safely dealt with long before Ultron. 

The lights flickered and the room tilted and blurred. Or was that Steve’s vision? He blinked and shook his head. The walls refocused—except the edges, which stayed soft and dreamlike. 

 _Was_  this a dream? Minute details like numbers and letters were slippery, hazy. He couldn't read them, no matter how hard he tried. He looked around. There was no sign of the bots anywhere. Or the rest of the tower, for that matter. The far sides of the lab trailed off into—nothing. 

 _Tony?_  Steve tried to ask, but the word wouldn't come.  

Whether he’d said it or not, Tony’s back straightened and he swiveled in his chair. Amusement and relief rolled off him—like Steve had drifted off on Tony's couch hours ago and he’d been waiting all this time for Steve to wake up.

Steve didn't know how he’d gotten here. Except… Bucky had said it was okay for him to be here, if  _here_  was where he wanted to be. And so he was.

As if responding to the blush of Steve’s thoughts, suddenly Tony was pressed up against him, his mouth demanding Steve's full attention, diving right back in to where they’d left off the night before. Steve’s pulse surged. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but Tony’s kiss was urgent. There was no time to waste. If this was all they were going to get, they had to make the most of it. 

Tony maneuvered Steve over to the coffee table and wasted no time unzipping himself and pulling off his shirt as they went. The arc reactor was gone now, only a knot of scars left behind; but somehow Steve knew Tony felt the heavy circle of metal and humming energy like it was still embedded in his chest, like it was his only remaining lifeline.

Steve sat on the edge of the table and helped Tony slide out of his jeans and underwear. Tony's cock came free, already well on its way to being hard. For a split second Steve wondered if Tony wanted him to play out the fantasy—to take Tony into his mouth, to swallow him down, tease him, and milk him to completion with his tongue. Steve could. He knew the motions, though he had no idea if Tony would respond the same way Bucky did. Steve was willing to try, even though his fingers on Tony's hips were trembling. 

But at the moment Tony seemed more interested in getting Steve out of his own clothes. He grabbed the back of Steve’s collar and pulled his shirt up over his head, mussing Steve's hair and tossing the article of clothing aside. He urged Steve further back onto the table and straddled his thighs, leaving enough room so he could open Steve's pants. He captured Steve's mouth with another kiss while he helped Steve free, his fingers working Steve's hardening length with insistent and thoughtful strokes. 

Steve couldn't catch his breath. Was this really a dream? It  _felt_ real enough; but there was no way to be sure. Real or imagined, Steve found it difficult to formulate any complaints. Except one. And he’d have to accept that it was better for Bucky not to be with them right now. 

As it was, Steve already felt like he was losing himself, drowning in Tony all around him. Tony brimmed with the need to touch and be touched—a pulsing current driving him on. Steve nosed along the stubble under Tony’s jaw, planting kisses along his throat and tasting his skin. Tony took hold of Steve using both hands, one to hold him steady and the other to curl loosely around the top of Steve’s cock, thumb swiping over the head and circling around to run under the rim. 

Steve gasped out a whine against Tony’s throat, surprising himself. He hadn’t known he could make that sound—or he’d forgotten.

A tentative spiral of a question. Concern. _Too much?_ Tony wondered.

Steve shook his head, but Tony switched his tactics anyway. He wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders to steady himself and lined his hips up with Steve’s. He firmed his grip around them both, tugging and stroking as evenly as he could without extra lubrication. The friction was heated, overwhelming, but not aggressive. With Tony, it was all exploration and easy pleasure (with no apologies to polite society). 

Tony ducked his head and nipped experimentally at one of Steve’s nipples and soothed the hurt with his tongue. He looked up to gauge Steve’s reaction—ever the scientist gathering feedback and data. 

Steve startled and then found himself laughing softly, strangely relieved. Tony was just...  _so Tony_. Even in bed. Or on a coffee table, as the case may be. Why had Steve been so intimidated? 

Tony repeated the treatment on the other nipple and Steve winced slightly. Tony soothed it with extra attention. More calculations. His thumb moved along the center of Steve’s chest, fingers skimming over his heartbeat, considering. 

There was a murmur at the back of Steve’s thoughts. Flashes of ice, longing, and cliché references to World War II. _Was this Steve's first time since 1945?_  

Steve got that a lot, but in this instance it was true. He nodded, barely.

That made up Tony’s mind. He climbed off and gestured for Steve to finish stripping out of his jeans— _Those. Off._ He could almost hear Tony say it—while Tony rummaged in a corner of the lab. Steve got up and peeled off the rest of his clothing, and when Tony came back, he gave Steve an appreciative once-over before pressing a bottle of lube into Steve's hand. Tony drew him down for another kiss, thrusting his tongue into Steve’s mouth, and Steve met him halfway, holding Tony’s jaw and sinking into the wet heat. 

 _Did a dream need lube?_ Steve wondered archly. _Should they get condoms, too? Just to be safe?_  

Actually, it wasn't a bad question. Protection wasn't something he'd had to seriously consider since the war. Steve wasn't likely to receive or transmit infection because of the serum; but if real life gave them the opportunity to be together like this, it wouldn't hurt to be sure for Tony's sake. As nice as it was to have direct contact, sometimes it was just as nice to have an easy cleanup when all was said and done. Bucky'd been extra careful about that kind of thing when Steve's health had been more precarious. The least Steve could do was remember to ask Tony what he wanted.

For now, though, Tony lay back on the coffee table and pulled Steve's hips down between his thighs. Steve brushed past the tattooed soul mark, the one Tony’d gotten on this very table. It couldn’t be fully healed yet, but Tony gave no sign it hurt—which might have been the dream, or because he’d treated it. Steve wasn’t sure. He just hoped it lasted.

Was the tattoo why Tony’d chosen the table? He wondered idly if the real coffee table could take their full, combined weight? Tony  _had_  splurged on ridiculously sturdy furniture, and now Steve was pretty sure he knew why.

Steve shifted his hips experimentally, sliding their cocks together. Tony swore and let his head fall back against the table. He lifted his knees and wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist. Steve popped the cap on the lube and reached between them to slick their lengths and ease each movement. He mimicked Tony’s earlier gestures, working them together, except slow and slippery and deliberate, adding the soft rocking of his hips—and laughing when Tony put a hand over his face and cursed. 

Steve shifted forward and kissed him again.  _I love you._ He was surprised how easy it was to own that feeling. He meant it, and he didn’t have to steal anything from Bucky to mean it. Caring about Tony wasn’t about making up for something Steve had lost, although Steve badly wanted Bucky to be there. Steve didn’t need to have Tony like this—but he did need Tony in his life. Steve needed him to be to be whole, to be well. One kiss wasn’t enough. Neither was one dream. 

Steve dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the center of Tony’s chest where the gnarled lines of scarring came together like spirals of lightning.

Tony tilted his head back, tongue running over his upper lip. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling and blinked back what looked suspiciously like tears.Doubt welled up, shadows clawing at Tony's confidence and spilling over into Steve. _This wasn't real. There was no way it could be real._

Steve ran his thumb along Tony’s cheek, catching Tony’s gaze and holding it.  _This is real._  Even if it wasn’t, even if it was just a dream,Steve willed Tony to hear it, to understand it, to believe it. Wherever he was. 

Steve’s slicked hand reached lower, fingers delving into the warm cleft between Tony’s cheeks to circle against the sensitive ring of muscle hidden there.  _Is this okay?_ Steve searched Tony’s face.

Tony exhaled shakily and nodded, lips barely parted. Steve pressed a slick finger inside and Tony’s back arched and his brow creased. 

Worried, Steve made to withdraw and Tony clenched his knees around Steve’s body. Reverberations of panic _._ Tony's heart was racing. _Don't leave. He just needed time to adjust. Steve wasn't the only one out of practice at this party, all right?_

That actually hadn’t occurred to Steve at all. But it made sense now that he thought about it. Tony wasn't exactly the playboy anymore and Pepper probably hadn’t done this kind of thing with Tony. Probably. And even if she had, it’d been months since they’d been together. In the mean time, Tony obviously hadn’t been indulging in much more than quick and dirty hand jobs. 

Not that Steve’s situation had been any better. 

Steve took his time, sinking in one knuckle at a time, stretching and thrusting his fingers gently, searching for and finding the spot that sent blissful sparks shooting through Tony’s system. Steve drank in each noise and curse and sob Tony had to give him until Tony’s legs were shaking and they were both sweating. 

Steve lifted Tony’s hips and leaned over him, positioning himself as their mouths met again.    

Tony urged him on, impatient. 

Maddeningly, the sensations went fuzzy and distant. Tony started to slip away. Just as Steve was sinking in, the connection was fading out—the distant echo of push and pull, rhythmic movement dying away as sleep loosened its grip and the dream scattered. 

 

+

 

Steve jolted awake, hard and aching, shorts sticking to him uncomfortably. The mirror shielding had automatically adjusted to let in the grey haze of early morning and there was condensation on the glass. Bucky was still asleep, curled around his pillow with his back to Steve, having shifted in the night. At least a handful of hours had passed and Bucky would be awake soon. 

Steve had to take care of this fast. 

He slipped out from under the covers and into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. 

He leaned back against the door and ran a hand through his hair, gathering his senses. He was a kid all over again—feeling, wanting, needing, but so far out of his depth he didn’t know where to start. Should he try to call Tony? Should he go to the lab? Straight to the source? What if it really had been nothing but a dream? 

“Friday,” Steve asked softly, mindful of Bucky on the other side of the door, "is Tony awake?”

“I’m afraid not, Captain,” Friday said. “He said he would be 'contemplating the inside of his eyelids' for fifteen minutes on the lab sofa. That was over an hour ago.” 

Exhaustion was Tony’s realm of being, but he rarely gave in to real sleep. 

“Vitals?” Steve asked.

“Normal for his current condition.”

Steve didn’t like the qualifier. 

“Is he—“ Steve couldn’t bring himself to ask if Tony was in a similar state as himself. And Steve sincerely hoped Friday wasn't permitted to divulge such personal information to anyone who asked. “Can you tell if I got through to him or not?”

“I’m afraid he’s given no definitive indication. Would you like me to take a message?" 

“No.” Steve sighed. He’d have to be content with not knowing. At least for now. If Tony was sleeping,  _actually sleeping,_  he needed the rest. Steve could take care of himself. 

He pushed off the door and stepped fully into the ensuite, which was, in true Tony Stark fashion, ridiculous. The windows were floor-to-ceiling with a view over Columbus Square and Central Park beyond, and like all of the tower glass, it was mirror shielded for privacy. The shower was a spacious, open stall—no glass or curtains—tiled with travertine and featuring multiple shower heads with a variety of settings. There was a tile bench for luxuriating under the spray. And that wasn’t including the whirlpool tub and private sauna adjacent, with space set aside for a massage table and storage filled with top-of-the-line scented oils, lotions, and soaps. There was a rack full of soft towels and a mini-fridge stocked with bottled water and sparkling, non-alcoholic drinks.   

It really was too much. 

No wonder Bucky spent so much time in here. 

Steve turned the water on and stripped out of his shirt and peeled off his shorts, stepping under the spray to let it sluice away the vestiges of sleep. He braced a hand against the wall, water cascading over his neck and shoulders as steam softened the room.

He could turn the water cold and be done with it. That would be the simplest solution to his problem; but not the one he wanted.   

Steve took himself in hand, skin water-slick, and gave a few tugs to bring himself back to full hardness. 

The world at large might blush to know Captain America jerked off from time to time. The star-spangled man had a reputation polished squeaky clean by time and propaganda; but Steve Rogers was very much human. And he’d grown up with Brooklyn’s most charming flirt for a soulmate. Bucky’d shown him a thing or two.  

Steve alternated between trailing his fingers loosely over the shaft and stroking hard through a tightened fist, sinking into a pattern and chasing the surges of pleasure. 

Warmth curled and tightened in his abdomen, building but not peaking. He switched hands, thumb and forefinger gliding and twisting over the tip before his hand slid back down and picked up the pace. 

His thoughts jumped between flashes of his dream, worry for Tony, Bucky grinding down on him— _no, he couldn’t think about that_ —and the need to finish quickly and quietly. 

Steve slowed his frustrated motions and calmed his breathing. He needed focus. An image, a memory,  _one thing_  that could push him over the edge. He tilted his face into the water, concentrating on the motions and the warm, building tension. Just feeling. All he needed to do was feel the slick, moving pressure. It didn’t have to be that difficult, but— _fuck_ —it wasn’t enough.

Two people Steve loved were in trouble and, while they were suffering, he was secretly trying to get off. Was that selfish? Maybe he didn’t deserve this small comfort. 

Steve blinked through the rivulets of water and wiped a hand across his face. Through the fog of steam, the first white-gold rays of sunlight were sparking off the glass of the buildings beyond.

Footsteps padded up behind him under the spray and a hand on his shoulder stopped him from turning. Steve’s heart thudded against his ribcage. A cold metal palm and fingers shaped from articulated plates smoothed over his shoulder and down his arm, the metal rapidly warming under the stream of water. Steve made a helpless noise. Bucky. It was Bucky. His soulmate was putting all his concentration into sealing himself off from the bond, giving Steve nothing more to sense than his touch. 

It was real. He was there.

Bucky hushed him before he could protest, chest pressed to Steve’s back and the fingers of his right hand slipping down Steve’s abdomen, dipping into his navel, and pausing just a breath away from where Steve’s hand was wrapped, frozen, around his hard length. Bucky was waiting, asking for permission.

 _Oh, god._  They shouldn’t. 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut.

But it had been so long since he’d been with his soulmate. Decades separated by ice and pain. Steve had been so afraid he’d spend the rest of his days alone, trapped in a time he didn’t belong in. Bucky was here, right here, alive, with his hands on him, proving Steve  _was_  meant to be here. It was real—and Bucky was offering him something he wanted desperately.

Steve was already so close. If they could keep the bond shut, just for a minute—

“Yeah, yes, okay,” Steve said, voice wrecked. He let go of himself and braced both hands on the wall, pressing his forehead to the tile. 

“Don’t think about me, think about him.” Bucky pressed close and gripped the base of Steve’s cock with his right hand. 

Steve’s mouth fell open and his knees went weak. “ _Bucky._ ”

“Tony,” Bucky corrected firmly. His metal arm came around Steve’s chest to help support him, water running into the grooves between plates and cascading to the shower floor. “This ain’t gonna work if you don’t think about Tony. Just Tony.” 

Steve closed his eyes, willing himself to get lost again in the barrage of images. The dream. His glimpse into Tony’s fantasy—God. The things Tony kept inside his head.

Tony wanted Steve’s mouth on him, wanted Steve on the coffee table where he’d gotten his soul mark tattooed. _Steve naked with his hips between Tony thighs, both of them pressed together and lost in the slick, warm sensation of each other._

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve gasped. 

Bucky made a noise of approval, his hand squeezing up and opening down again around him, picking up speed. 

“More,” Steve panted, fingernails scraping against the tile, hips thrusting minutely to meet Bucky’s hand. “Please,” he begged. 

Bucky’s metal hand slipped down between Steve’s legs, pulling their hips flush together. Bucky was half-hard, fighting it. 

_Steve thrusting into Tony. Tony wrapping his legs tighter and encouraging Steve deeper with his heels._

“Come on, Stevie.” Bucky’s breath came ragged. He rested his forehead on the back of Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve pushed away the roughness of his soulmate’s voice, the need it sparked, trying to shore up the wall between them and refocus.

Tony. Just Tony. 

A damaged thread of light in Steve’s mind stirred, flickering, guttering, and a bleary wash of thought came through the bond without shape or tone. Just a murmur. A question. Confusion. 

Tony? 

Impatience. Irritation. _Damn it. Tony'd been sleeping well for once. Was fifteen minutes too much to ask?_  

Definitely Tony.

There was a curious pause and then Steve was hit with a wall of sensation—a strange mix of recognition, utter disbelief, and a surge of unmistakable lust. 

Steve’s mouth dropped open.  _Tony was connected and_ _he knew._

"Oh," Steve breathed. And then,  _"Fuck."_  He was suddenly very keenly aware of how naked he was.

But he held on, willing Tony to feel the patter of water on his skin and the fire that was Bucky’s fingers sliding quickly and expertly around him. This wasn't just for them. This was Tony's too. Or it could be. If he wanted it. 

Tony said something. Dumbfounded, awed, and full of longing, it came through as images:  _That stupid spangly outfit Tony had loved since he was a kid.—The old reels flickering in the basement of the mansion, where Tony had set up for a marathon while his dad was away.—That stubborn, square jaw and infuriating righteousness.—The relieved smile, sunshine after the clawing darkness inside the wormhole._  

Steve.

And then:  _Tony, just a kid, tucked in bed wearing his Captain America PJs and curled around the Bucky Bear Jarvis had made for him.—His heart falling when he found out who had attacked Steve in DC, and what Hydra had done to him.—The silhouette coming out of the shadows in Central Park, the man clever and cocky and disinterested, but holding Tony close and helping him home one step at a time.—That kiss for the cameras.—A tiny cot and a heavy metal arm pinning Tony close._

James. 

Tony said their names, aching with separation and wanting to be with them.  

Steve strangled out a sob and Bucky’s hand, insistent, wrung Steve to the edge. _Tony wanted to be with them._  Steve's mouth opened and his vision whited out as he came, Bucky continuing to stroke him and murmur praises until the last drop of fluid melted away under the steady stream of water. Heaviness settled in as he emptied out, and Bucky ran a hand down Steve's back from shoulder to hip and finally let him go.

The thread of light snapped and Tony faded away. 

Steve gave up the ghost and sank to his knees. Bucky helped him to the tile seat for support, spray coming down to wet Steve’s eyelashes and wash away the last of his tension, leaving him boneless and tired and warm. 

“Don’t look,” Bucky said roughly, once he was sure Steve was safely seated. 

“Hm?” 

“The scar,” Bucky said. 

Steve nodded. “I won’t.” 

It was a measure of trust that Bucky didn’t maneuver to be certain Steve couldn’t catch a glimpse. He turned the water cold and stepped into the stream until his hardness flagged, then he shut off the shower and sat down beside Steve. 

Still dazed, Steve held Bucky’s cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Bucky made a hum of pleasure. “Can’t believe that worked. Thought for a minute I’d have to run out on ya.” 

Run out? Steve’s thoughts were still swimming and then the weight of what they’d done crashed in on him. “That was dangerous.”

“Damn it, Steve,” Bucky said, “should I have let you finish by yourself?” It was an honest question. 

Steve wiped the water back from his face. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. I wanted it, Buck. But we have to think about the other people in the tower. Hell, there’s a whole city outside full of people we could hurt. And what about you? You said you wouldn’t be able to get in bed with me again if the programming took over while we were fucking. I don’t think I could live with that.”

Bucky’d gone pale; but he licked his lips and nodded to the bathroom counter. Through the fading steam a white syringe was visible—another one of Tony’s options to help them manage the bond. A dose was strong enough to knock out a super soldier in no time flat, and the concoction hadn’t been there when Steve came in. “I was gonna use it if I felt myself slipping.”

Steve winced. Of course Bucky’d had a backup plan. And it hurt all the more because he shouldn’t have had to have one.

“I’m sorry.” Steve sagged. “But will every time be like that? If we feel like fooling around, are we going to have to accept it might end with a tranquilizer? Or worse? I don’t want that.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about next time,” Bucky said miserably. “Just this time. I woke up and I heard the shower going and, well, it was pretty obvious what you were up to. I was gonna leave you to it, but I could feel you struggling. I haven’t been there for you for a long time. Some of that wasn’t my choice. But these last two years, I could have been—" His voice failed and he shook his head. "I wanted to be there for you. Just this time."

Steve swore and put his face in his hands. When he sat back, his eyes were red.

Bucky ran his hand over Steve’s shoulders.

“I miss you,” Steve said.

“I’m sittin' right here.”

“I mean us—together. I got you right here and it’s like there's a wedge shoved between us.”

Bucky sighed. “Not much either one of us can do about that right now.” 

“I know.” 

“I love you, Stevie.” Bucky nosed at Steve’s cheek and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Steve turned into it, bringing their mouths together, softly, and finishing with a returned kiss to the outside curve of Bucky’s lips. 

“Love you, too.” So much. 

“Come on,” Bucky said. "Let’s get you dressed. We’ve got another fella we need to take care of.” He stepped out and picked up a towel. Steve focused on the steady drip of condensation down the tile while Bucky dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He pulled out another and beckoned Steve over. 

“I’ll show you,” Bucky said as he rubbed the plush cotton vigorously over Steve’s damp skin. There was a stomach twisting flash of that faraway lab where Hydra had cut into him. A blip and then it was gone. “I will. Just not yet.” 

“It’s okay.” Steve said. “Whatever you need is okay.” 

“What I need is to get laid,” Bucky said cheekily and tied the towel around Steve’s waist.

Steve would have liked that, too. He bent to gather their clothes from the floor, his mind replaying the heat of their last moments under the shower together. Bucky’s hands and the intensity of Tony’s recognition, like he was finally looking into Steve the way Steve had looked into him. Steve paused in mid-motion. “Bucky.”

Bucky turned, silent curiosity flickering through the bond. 

Steve looked up. "Tony felt us."

 

**Author's Note:**

> The device Steve is using to reconnect to the bond is an early prototype of BARF. In this universe, Tony hasn't perfected it yet. 
> 
> The threesome fantasy Steve gets a glimpse of is what Tony imagined in [A Super Soldier Or Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7453903)
> 
> The bond between our three boys is connecting sporadically, but there are no soul marks yet. Bucky and Steve don't care. As far as they're concerned, Tony is theirs. In chapter seven of [the main fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6381397/chapters/14613505), we'll find out how Tony feels about all this. 
> 
> Speaking of which: Was that really Tony in Steve's dream, or just a really vivid facsimile? We'll probably find that out in chapter seven, too ;)
> 
> Things I didn't know before writing this fic: [the US army provided condoms to their enlisted members during WWII and had extensive propoganda promoting their use](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Condom#1930_to_present). Steve and Bucky would have had access to condoms and would know full well how and when to use them. (I also kind of headcanon Steve's mom pulling Bucky aside once they started doing the deed and making sure he knew exactly how to keep Steve as safe and healthy as possible. Because Sarah's a nurse and a good mom and she's awesome like that.) 
> 
> Also, I want that ensuite bathroom. I need it. 
> 
> Find fic updates and progress reports for this series under [this tag](http://explodingcrenelation.tumblr.com/tagged/my-fanfic) on Tumblr :)


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